


There Goes the Neighborhood

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Exhibitionism (sort of), Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Shower Sex, Voyeurism (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a new neighbor—one with a very loud morning routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Goes the Neighborhood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 5, 2009.
> 
> Written for Dysonrules and Bryoney Brynn's Speed Pr0nz Challenge, prompt: _unexpectedly neighbors_. Thanks to Supergrover24 for a quick 'n' dirty beta.

Harry's mind was still clouded with sleep the first time it happened.

He paused and lifted his head out from under the spray, feeling suddenly very alert, ears pricked, not certain he hadn't simply imagined the sound. But then it came again from the opposite side of the wall, and it was very definitely a moan.

The sound was so low and drawn out and utterly, deliciously pleased-sounding that it couldn't be anything other than what Harry had immediately concluded it to be. His own cock began to harden in response, and he slid his fingers down to curl around it, stroking idly while he kept an ear tuned for additional emanations from behind the wall.

His new neighbor didn't disappoint. The moans increased in pace and volume as Harry's stroking hand picked up its rhythm on his now very awake cock. There was no finesse to it, just quick and strong and sure movement, fist tugging frantically as the moans filtering through the wall grew louder and deeper, finally culminating in a deep, satisfied groan that Harry could practically feel down to his bones, and which caused him to gasp as his cock very suddenly erupted, spurting against the tile with surprising, knee-weakening force. He shook in the aftermath of the orgasm, ducking his head once more beneath the spray of the showerhead, feeling the water trail in warm rivulets down his body.

He took a deep breath, then expelled it, rolling his shoulders before rinsing the evidence from the shower wall and turning off the flow of water. He could hear the pound of the spray on the other side of the wall continuing, and marveled that the man on the other side either hadn't realized how clearly sound carried between their flats, or else hadn't given a damn when the urge to wank struck him.

His previous neighbors hadn't been the loud-shower-wanking types, though they had been the loud-bedroom-sex types, a fact that had maddened Harry as he lay in bed at night, unable to fall asleep for the rhythmic squeak of springs, guttural moans, high-pitched squeals, and unrelenting, could-pound-nails-with-the-bloody-thing hardness of his own cock as the sounds on the opposite side of the wall reached their inevitable crescendo. One thing was certain: He'd never again take the freedom to cast a Silencing Charm for granted. He'd wondered, on more than one occasion, if his superiors in the Auror Office hadn't chosen this building deliberately for that very reason; after all, what was the point of exiling trainee Aurors to six months of living undercover as Muggles if there weren't constant temptation to give in and use just one teeny-tiny, practically unnoticeable charm or hex?

It had also left him sorely tempted to head to a club and pick up some hot young thing he could bring home for his own episode of loud, raucous bedroom sex. But he'd tried the meaningless sex route several times after his drawn-out, messy breakup with Ginny, and somehow it always had left him feeling emotionally hollow afterward, no matter how good the sex had been. And so he'd been making do with the company of his own hand and near-silent orgasms in the shower. Today, though, had been a revelation.

Harry toweled off and dressed for work in Muggle attire, wondering all the while just whom his new neighbor was—and whether the audio performance would be repeated the next morning.

*

It was.

Harry's vision actually grayed with the intensity of his orgasm as he slumped against the shower wall, shaking hard as he coaxed the last of his come from his exhausted cock. The man next door sounded like a bloody wanking virtuoso, his moans deep and smoothly pitched and utterly, intoxicatingly arousing as they rose and fell, culminating in a final, guttural groan so profoundly satisfied Harry almost felt as though it were drawn from his own heaving chest.

He wondered if the man was single, if he was gay, if he had any idea just what an incredible performance he was putting on for his next-door neighbor.

He wondered if he'd ever get the chance to find out.

Both before and after work yesterday, he'd kept an ear out for the telltale squeak of the next door down, ready to spring for his own door to embark on a pretend errand, just to have an excuse to be neighborly and greet the new guy in the adjacent flat. But he'd never heard the man leave.

The next few days proved to be more of the same: loud, intensely erotic-sounding wank sessions, but no trace of whomever was behind the moans. Harry's imagination was working overtime. Perhaps his neighbor was a tall, dark, and handsome writer who worked from home. Perhaps he was a dapper retired gent who devoted his energies these days to wank fantasies. Perhaps he was tall and lithe and independently wealthy, with no need to leave the flat for something as mundane as work.

The latter, at least, was a long shot, considering the character of this neighborhood and building.

A week later, Harry was wearily unlocking the door to his flat after a training session that had run brutally long when he finally heard the sound he'd been listening for: the squeaking hinges of the next door down as it abruptly swung open, bringing Harry face to face at last with his mystery neighbor.

As the man stepped into the hallway, Harry's jaw dropped.

So did his neighbor's.

"Malfoy?" Harry hissed.

"Potter?" Malfoy replied, his tone flat with disbelief.

Harry's brain was filled with static. _This_ was the man he'd been eavesdropping on for more than a week, about whom he'd spun elaborate fantasies in his head of the man's considerable physical assets, insatiable libido, and undeniable hunger to meet the neighbor wanking in desperate silence on the other side of the wall?

"Fucking hell," he muttered.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Malfoy spat.

"I could ask the same," Harry replied.

"You could," Malfoy said, "but I asked first."

"Training assignment," he said curtly. "You?"

"Making a point to my father."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "That you can live among…?" He jerked his head to indicate the other doorways the populated the dim hall and mouthed _Muggles_.

"Yeah," Malfoy said with a sigh. "It was a stupid argument to begin with, but fuck if I'm going to back down now."

"Huh," Harry said, starting to feel a little ill with the realization that he'd been wanking every morning over _Malfoy_ , of all people.

"Had no idea it was you next door, though," Malfoy continued.

"It's not exactly like you might have guessed."

"No," Malfoy said. "But—well—you're not precisely what I pictured."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. Louder, he said, "Disappointed I'm not some buxom young tart for you to take advantage of?"

"No," Malfoy replied, sounding amused. "But Mrs. Pennyworth down the hall _did_ hint when I moved in that there was an attractive gay man living next door with whom I might want to become better acquainted."

Harry's jaw fell open again. Maybe he _had_ eyed Mrs. Pennyworth's tall, fit grandson just a little too long when the man had visited her last month, but he'd certainly never _said_ anything to the woman…

Also, Malfoy was gay?

The man in question was smirking at him in a very self-satisfied way, his eyes trailing down Harry's front slowly and lazily.

Harry drew himself up. He might not have had sex with anyone other than his own hand for going on six months now, but damned if he was going to condescend to fucking Draco bloody Malfoy.

The thought drew his eyes back to Malfoy's mouth, and Harry swallowed.

"Well," he said, swinging open his own door, "don't worry, I'll be gone in less than a month anyway, and then maybe you can get a neighbor who's more interested in what you have to offer."

Malfoy's eyes darkened, and his mouth opened, no doubt to issue a scathing reply.

"Oh, and also?" Harry interrupted, hating the words even as they fell from his mouth. "In case you didn't realize, the walls in this place are paper thin, and the sounds of your morning wank are broadcast loud and clear every day. Have a nice night."

He shut the door on Malfoy's shocked face.

*

If Harry had thought his revelation would act as a deterrent to a man who apparently was stubborn enough to defy his pure-blood father by living among Muggles, the following morning he received a rude awakening—literally.

Rather than casting the Silencing Charm Harry had so desperately hoped for, Malfoy apparently had arisen even earlier than usual and was making a very loud and elaborate show of his shower wank. The sounds of his extraordinarily drawn-out moans and groans drifted all the way from the bathroom and woke Harry from a sound sleep. He turned onto his stomach, burying his head beneath the pillow, but his cock, too, was wide awake, and he found himself unwillingly humping the mattress in time with Malfoy's maddening cries. When Malfoy screamed out his orgasm, Harry spilled all over the sheets like a schoolboy, muffling his own desperate cries into the mattress.

The next morning, when he woke to blissful silence, Harry thought he was in the clear. But almost as soon as he had begun to run the water in the shower, the sounds of Malfoy's shower next door began, and so, too, did Malfoy's morning wank. Harry's cock perked up determinedly at the sound, but he refused to touch it, instead twisting the shower dial ruthlessly to cold, forcing his idiot erection into sorry retreat.

The following morning, the same scene played out. And again the next.

By the time four days had passed, Harry was going mad from his own stubborn refusal to indulge in Malfoy-inspired wanking. Even when he attempted to wank on his own time, his mind filled immediately with images of Malfoy's tall, sleekly muscled form, wet from the shower and taut with the exquisite tension of impending orgasm, head tipped back and mouth open to release a prolonged, desperate, escalating groan—all of which caused Harry immediately to drop his hand and attempt to will his unruly cock into submission.

The next day, Harry was so tired, so disgruntled, and so desperately horny that the sound of Malfoy's no doubt artistically enhanced sounds of pleasure provoked a brief, sharp, intensely pathetic whimper before Harry could manage to bite it back. The noises coming from the other side of the wall stopped abruptly, and Harry, in a panic, shut off his shower and fled the flat in such haste that his clothing clung damply to him where he hadn't bothered to towel off.

The following morning, Harry finally gave in. When the inevitable sounds arose from the flat next door, he curled his hand around his cock and pumped, hard, gasping with the feel of his tight fist sliding over heated flesh. As the sounds from Malfoy's bathroom heightened, so, too, did Harry's panting breaths, his hand working ruthlessly along his shaft. So intent was he on the orgasm that was barreling down on him like a freight train that he didn't even realize the sounds from next door had stopped until there was a sudden crack of Apparition directly behind him and another body sliding slickly against his own. "Ah," he gasped as Malfoy's arms reached around him from behind. The long, smooth fingers of one pale hand curled around his cock, the other hand grasping Harry's balls, and Malfoy's erection nudged into the cleft of Harry's arse. All it took was three fast, sure strokes of Malfoy's hand, and Harry was groaning as though he'd been holding in the sound for weeks—which he had—and coming messily all over Malfoy's hand. Malfoy's knowing fingers stroked slowly along Harry's shaft, his thumb rubbing idly over the head of Harry's cock as Harry, trembling, rode out the last few incredible aftershocks.

"I knew you weren't as indifferent as you pretended to be," Malfoy murmured in his ear, fingers roaming across Harry's water-slicked cock, hips, thighs, belly, as though charting a map of Harry's body. His hips moved against Harry from behind, his cock pressing rhythmically into Harry's cleft. Harry shifted, increasing the friction between them, and Malfoy groaned, biting into the curve between Harry's neck and shoulder as he shook and came all over Harry's back.

They stood panting together under the spray as Harry fought to clear his head. Malfoy's hands were still trailing over Harry's body in no discernible pattern, his mouth sliding along Harry's neck and shoulders, pressing open-mouthed kisses. It felt...good, he was shocked to realize.

Turning, Harry met Malfoy's gaze, reading the cockiness and defiance in the other man's expression. In Malfoy's eyes, though, he could detect a shadow of wariness. It was all he needed to give himself permission to capture Malfoy's face between his palms and press a hungry kiss to the man's startled—but quickly responsive—mouth.

Harry drew back and slanted a lascivious smile at Malfoy before pressing him against the shower's tiled wall. "It occurs to me that I haven't given you a housewarming gift," he said, dropping slowly to his knees.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and his cock began to harden again immediately. "No," he replied, just a little breathlessly, "you certainly haven't."

"Well," Harry said, eyeing Malfoy's now very interested cock with anticipation, "that was hardly neighborly of me. Let's rectify that, shall we?" And when his lips slid over the reddened cock head, Malfoy's cries filled the room more deliciously than ever before.


End file.
